


Labels

by liquidcourage



Category: Invader Zim
Genre: Enemies to Lovers, Fandom Allusions & Cliches & References, High School, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-25
Updated: 2019-07-25
Packaged: 2020-07-19 19:37:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19979425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liquidcourage/pseuds/liquidcourage
Summary: Dib doesn’t remember exactly how he let himself get roped into coming to this stupid party -- well, that’s not true. He’s knows exactly how he got into this situation. Zim, of course. It’s always Zim.





	Labels

**Author's Note:**

> 100% inspired by [this plot bunny.](https://ezwriting.tumblr.com/post/186517872451/some-cute-wholesome-plots)
> 
> SPIN THE BOTTLE — After two rivals kiss at a game of spin the bottle, they can’t stop thinking about the other. But they keep their relationship secret and there’s a lot of sneaking around, making out in the janitor’s closet, pretending to fight in public to keep up appearances, but then when they’re alone it’s all lovey dovey. 
> 
> i regret nothing

Dib doesn’t remember exactly how he let himself get roped into coming to this stupid party -- well, that’s not true. He’s knows exactly how he got into this situation. Zim, of course. It’s _always_ Zim. The alien decides that normal people go to parties -- well, Dib has to follow him to the party, make sure he’s not causing trouble -- who knows what Zim would do to these poor, unsuspecting _fools_? Just because he doesn’t usually cause too much trouble these days doesn’t mean that he won’t _tonight_. 

And that’s the worst part! Zim seems to be having fun! Zim’s not exactly popular at their hi - skool by any means, but apparently he’s more than capable of being the life of the party -- actually, in hindsight, that’s not surprising considering that Zim seems to thrive off of attention. The alien has a red solo cup in one hand, full of some questionable booze mixed with far too much overly sweet punch and some syrupy mixture -- Zim’s drink is almost entirely sugar and booze. Dib wonders how much it takes to get an Irken wasted, or if Zim’s species can even get intoxicated at all. Zim laughs loudly at something some girl says and they clink their glasses together, sloshing a bit of the drinks around before taking a large drink -- or rather, the girl takes a drink, and Zim throws back the whole thing in a few gulps and crushes the cup in his hand. 

Zim’s loud and obnoxious, and damn if that isn’t working out for him here. 

Dib needs a drink to deal with this. 

He wanders into the kitchen and lets someone force a cup of cheap beer into his hand. He takes a sip. It’s revolting. He takes another sip and accepts his fate. If disgusting, cheap beer is what it takes to get through this night, then so be it. He settles himself back into a corner to sip his beer in silence.

Zim walks into the kitchen, and sets about making another disgustingly sweet drink with nearly half a cup of cheap vodka. He reaches into his PAK and pulls out a bottle of something viscous and pink and pours a bit in, sloshing it around as he adds fruit punch. Dib watches closely as Zim sniffs the questionable drink and takes a cautious sip before nodding in satisfaction. 

Dib finishes off his revolting beer and abandons the cup on the counter. He’ll get another later, most likely. He storms up to Zim, poking him in the chest, causing his drink to slosh over a bit to splatter on the floor. “What’s your game, _Zim_? Huh? What are you _planning_ , spaceboy?” 

Zim pulls back, tucking his drink away from Dib. “Zim is planning _nothing_ , Earthstink. Zim is here for the same reason as all the smellies here -- to partake of the disgusting Earth poison you human filth call alcohol.”

“ _Sure_ you are. I know you’re up to something, _Zim_ , and whatever your plan is, I won’t rest until I stop it!” 

Zim takes a sip of his drink and shrugs. “Good luck, Dib - smell. You’ll never stop the genius that is _Zim_! Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some more. . . _socializing_ to do.” 

Zim takes another sip of his drink and marches out of the room before Dib can say anything else. Dib grumbles and helps himself to another terrible beer. He stays there nursing his beer and most definitely does not sulk because Zim is having fun without him. After a few minutes of attempting to enjoy this lukewarm beer, he hears cheering. He tries to ignore it for a moment but his curiosity is piqued -- he abandons his beer to check it out. It's not like he was enjoying himself anyways. Maybe there will be something better going on. . . ?

Zim stands before a group of cheering boys and girls, throwing back jello shot after jello shot. There is little to no grace in it, but he appears to be competing with poor Chunk who already seems on the verge of too drunk. Two blonde girls with smeared makeup and too much glitter in their hair count loudly, proclaiming Zim and his unfortunate competitor to be on their fifteenth shot. Dib wonders if Chunk will need the hospital soon at this rate. Zim himself seems to be mildly tipsy at most, a bit of a flush on his cheeks -- bringing Dib back to his questions of how alcohol affects the alien’s biology, as a human drinking at Zim’s rate would be well and truly trashed, if not unconscious. 

“Here’s number sixteen,” the blond duo cheers.

Zim throws it back with ease and makes a wide gesture clearly intended to encourage cheering -- something which the drunken hi - skool students are more than eager to provide. Chunk manages to get the shot down, but then promptly hurls on the floor. 

Zim cheers, pumping his fists in the air. “Yes! Victory for Zim!” 

The hi - skool students cheer with him, seemingly impressed by Zim’s ability to hold his alcohol. The cheering only lasts for a few moments before a new song comes on over the boombox and everyone is distracted. Zim picks up his old drink, takes a swig, and retreats slightly away from the mass of bodies dancing in the crowded, small room. Dib watches the alien closely from the doorway, looking for any sign that Zim is up to no good, but he only appears interested in drinking his drink -- though he doesn’t appear to really enjoy it at all.

After a few minutes, Zita approaches Zim and they have some sort of conversation. Dib regrets watching from a distance now; unable to hear anything, he can’t tell what is going on over there. Zim nods in agreement with what Zita says, and the pair of them follow a group of their classmates up the stairs -- among them, Dib notices Torque Smackey, Sara, Keef and Gretchen. There’s no hesitation on Dib’s part, of course. He has to follow them -- who knows what Zim will do, upstairs with no supervision?

The group is all sitting down on the floor in a circle. When Zita spots Dib, she pauses but shrugs and gestures him over. “Come on, Dib; there’s room next to Zim.”

Dib walks over cautiously as Zim asks, “What are the. . . _rules_ of this ‘spin the bottle’?”

Zita starts explaining to Zim as Dib realizes what he’s gotten himself into. After a minute’s internal debate, Dib sits down next to Zim with a scowl. He has to make sure the alien doesn’t poison anyone or something. 

The hi - skoolers all take turns spinning the bottle. Zita goes first, spinning the bottle and landing on Keef. She wrinkles her nose, but places a chaste, and _very_ fast kiss upon Keef’s lips before immediately taking a drink of the nearest alcohol beverage. Keef spins the bottle and lands on Gretchen, who appears no more enthused than Zita, but permits his kiss with a touch more grace. 

The purple - haired girl takes her turn to spin the bottle and lands on Dib. She seems pretty pleased with that, to Dib’s surprise, and crawls her way over to the other side of the circle to place an eager kiss upon his lips. Dib thought he’d be pleased to get a kiss from a pretty boy or girl, and Gretchen has certainly grown into herself and fits the definition of pretty girl easily -- but there are no sparks going off. There’s no butterflies in his stomach, none of the excitement he feels when he chases around Zim -- 

The dark - haired teen pulls back sharply. Why was he thinking of Zim in that moment? Ugh. He shakes his head to clear it. He barely notices Gretchen slinking back to her seat, a dejected look on her face. He spins the bottle and it lands on. . . 

Of course it would land on Zim.

“I’m not kissing that disgusting alien!” Dib shouts, jumping to his feet.

“Rules are rules, Dib! Why’d you agree to play if you weren’t gonna play fair like the rest of us?” Torque Smackey responds. Dib knows he’s going to be ridiculed for this at hi - skool on Monday.

Zim jumps up, scowl on his face. “Dib - thing!” he shouts, pointing at his rival. “Zim will show you how he is superior at this ‘ _spin the bottle_ ’!” And with that, he steps forward, grabs Dib’s shirt and pulls him down to a kissable height.

Dib’s hands fall on Zim’s shoulders to push him away, but he stops short of doing so. There is no grace or finesse or in Zim’s kiss -- and yet despite that, Dib feels those butterflies in his stomach. He feels those sparks he thought he would feel with Gretchen. It’s right and it shouldn’t be. Dib’s hands slide down from Zim’s shoulders to grip his waist, and he lets out a sound of surprise -- one which Dib takes advantage of to deepen the kiss. Zim isn’t gentle or soft; he’s all hard edges and Dib doesn’t dare forget it when his tongue is in the alien’s mouth. Zim pulls harder on Dib’s shirt and forces their bodies closer -- and then suddenly pulls away, leaving Dib reeling.

“Zim wins this ‘spin the bottle’, yes?” The smugness radiating off of Zim as he sits back down in the circle drives Dib crazy -- how can he just -- just do _that_ and then be so calm and cool about it? 

Dib doesn’t even want to stay to keep an eye on Zim anymore. The others don’t even seem to notice Dib leaving anyways as they continue on with their game. He needs to think about this.

* * *

He thought about it. 

He thought about it a lot. 

He didn’t like Zim -- well, that wasn’t exactly true. He did like Zim. He liked Zim a lot, when the stupid alien wasn’t trying to take over the planet, and he liked their power plays and he enjoyed the thrill he got when he was putting a stop to Zim’s evil plans. Perhaps it was more accurate to say that he didn’t like some of Zim’s choices.

And yeah, it was pretty weird to want to kiss an alien, but the more he thought about it, the more he was alright with it. He _was_ weird. That was pretty much what he was known for. He couldn’t exactly try to change that _now_. 

With that mental crisis resolved, Dib begins the walk up Zim’s sidewalk, wary of the gnomes -- but they barely even turn towards him, even when he’s standing right on the doorstep. He stands there, fist raised as though he’s going to knock, but then he doesn’t.

Zim opens the door, arms crossed over his chest as he looks Dib up and down. “It is human courtesy to knock, _Dib - thing_.”

“You’re an alien; you can’t lecture me about human behaviors.”

“Nonsense, Zim is a perfectly normal human wormbaby, just like you.” There’s none of the normal heat in their words right now, though, and even Zim seems to have caught on despite his obliviousness. He pushes the door further open, and steps over a bit. “Come inside, Dib - human.”

Once Dib steps inside, Zim takes the opportunity to flop on the couch. Dib closes the door behind him and sits down next to the alien. They sit in silence for a moment, unwilling to break the silence.

Zim scratches his cheek, and mutters. “So. . . GIR is out -- went to the Krazy Taco. Should keep him --”

Dib doesn’t wait anymore. He grabs Zim by his shirt and pulls him close. Their mouths meet, cutting off the rest of Zim’s speech. This kiss is nothing like the first. This is softer, slower. Dib lets go of Zim’s shirt to brush his wig off his head as Zim’s hands rise up to curl into Dib’s hair. Without the audience, Dib feels a bit more confident, less on edge. When the alien climbs into the human’s lap to close the gap between them, Dib lets his hands settle on Zim’s sharp hips and pull him closer. 

Whatever this is that’s forming between them now, this thing that they haven’t put a name to -- it brings Dib just as much of a thrill as their fights. His heart’s beating fast in his chest. He doesn’t mind at all. 

Zim pulls back just long enough to remove his contacts and chuck them off to the side somewhere. He pulls Dib back in by his shirt, thin lithe legs wrapping around his waist. “What have you done to me, Dib - stink?” The alien’s murmuring against Dib’s lips. “We’re not _made_ to want.”

Dib laughs softly, and presses kisses along Zim’s jaw, speaking between kisses. “You always want something, Zim. How is this any different?”

Zim lets out a squeak as Dib moves those kisses down his neck, nibbling a bit along the way. “It just _is_ , Earthstink. Zim doesn’t expect your puny human brain to understand.”

Dib rolls his eyes and sets about leaving a hickey, nibbling and sucking on that smooth green skin in the crook of his neck. Zim rolls his head back, but one of his hands rises from where it was still clenched in Dib’s t - shirt to rest on his neck, and Dib takes it as a clear warning to not go overboard. He pulls back and looks at the alien in his lap. Zim’s cheeks are flushed -- not that Dib imagines his are any different. 

He wonders what this means for them. 

He doesn’t expect Zim will talk about it anytime soon. It doesn’t matter right now, Dib decides, leaning back in.

* * *

He’s chasing Zim through the hallways of the hi - skool, their laughter echoing through the air. Zim has no compunctions about pushing kids to the ground or into Dib’s path; Dib leaps over Sara’s prone form and keeps running, dodging around Willy. 

“You’ll never catch the almighty _Zim_ , pathetic wormbaby!” Zim throws the words over his shoulder, skidding around the corner of the freshman hallway and escaping Dib’s view. 

Dib rounds the corner, but Zim is gone, and the hallway is empty, with no one to interrogate on his whereabouts. Dib slowly makes his way down the corridor, peering into classrooms but seeing no signs of Zim wreaking havoc among the poor freshmen, who aren’t yet used to having the alien interrupt their questionable - at - best education. The door to the janitor’s closet is cracked, and he peeks in. Zim grabs his arm and yanks him in, then pulls the door closed and pushes him up against it.

“Looks like Zim caught a filthy human,” The Irken’s smug look irritates Dib -- but it’s easy to silence Zim these days. 

Dib presses their lips together; Zim permits it, rising up on his toes to get closer as he presses his rival’s form firmly into the heavy wooden door. In this tiny closet, every slick sound of their mouths pressing together is amplified. Dib chuckles against Zim's and the alien pulls away, trailing wet kisses down Dib's neck -- he's sure Zim is seeking retaliation for the dark green mark Dib dared to leave a few days ago. Dib finds the idea appealing, and tilts his head back as much as the door behind him allows. 

Zim’s teeth are a bit sharper than a human’s, but the alien is surprisingly mindful of that, careful to use only the barest of pressure. Dib is sure there will still be little pinprick sized wounds in his collarbone later, but the care used is appreciated and noticed. Zim pulls back, inspecting his work with a pleased grin. Using Zim’s distraction, Dib grabs the alien by the shoulders and flips their positions so that Zim is pressed into the door, his PAK forcing him to arch his back slightly to maintain the position Dib has placed him in. 

“Caught you a human, huh? Looks like _I’ve_ caught _you_ , Zim.” 

Dib doesn’t let the Irken respond, bending down to kiss him yet again.

* * *

They lay together on Dib’s bed, sides pressed firmly together as Zim draws on a piece of paper, fuschia eyes narrowed as he tries to explain the difference between Irken alcohol and their tolerance as compared to humans. 

Dib never was able to let something go -- but it seems not to matter, as Zim actually seems pleased to talk about his home planet and his species. Dib wonders if he misses Irk. He doesn’t want to open that can of worms, though -- he doesn’t want to think about Zim wanting to leave.

“Our PAKs pull toxins from our _superior_ bodies very quickly, and our squeedily - spooch requires a great deal of what you _wormbabies_ call ‘ _calories_ ’.” Zim explains, as he draws a crude picture of an Irken and a nondescript blob that he labels ‘squeedily - spooch’ then writes something in Irken underneath it -- Dib presumes it’s just the Irken translation. “On Irk, alcohol is much stronger, or our PAKs would process it too quickly to get the desired effect, and of course, it’s much sweeter and _superior_ than the sludge you _humans_ consume.”

Once, Dib would’ve been writing this all down, trying to film it or record it in some way -- proof of aliens. Things have changed -- were changing long before that one night that set this all in motion when he really thinks about it. He doesn’t need to prove anything these days. It’s only for the sake of his curiosity that he asks at all. He leans over and presses a kiss to the top of Zim’s head.

When did they get so soft? What even are they?

It’s not important, Dib decides, settling back down to rest his head on top of the alien’s. They’ll stop being so gentle at hi - skool tomorrow; they’ll chase each other around and Zim will cause trouble as he always does and Dib will put a stop to it as he always does -- and then they can sneak off somewhere and make out. It doesn’t matter what they call this; all that matters is that it’s comfortable and easy.

What they are isn’t so simple -- they can’t slap a label on it, anyways. 

Dib doesn’t think they need to. 

**Author's Note:**

> also some vague inspiration from [this art](https://ezwriting.tumblr.com/post/186526849616/akiione-ive-been-practicing-a-more-cartoon-style).  
> thanks for reading lol this is the longest thing i've written in a long time
> 
> find me on [tumblr](https://ezwriting.tumblr.com/)!


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